Journal Entries

With more than a little time to prepare for the game, and each of us waiting for the content releases for lore and game play, I have decided to start writing Journal Entries for my character(s). I welcome other writers/journalists to share their own stories on the matter. In the comments below please feel free to add your own character journal entries. I would love to read what others have come up with and perhaps we can even collaborate on connecting these stories in one form or another.

Disclaimer: These Pre-Alpha entries are subject to change once more Lore is given on the subject. After such time I will be more than willing to make an updated post for True Lore, while keeping these as a memory for the theorycrafting going on.

To get the ball rolling here is a Journal Entry from Kesarakk ((Yes, I will be playing this character in game)). Some backstory: Kesarakk is a Mage of Zazel, a group of mages who followed the teachings of an ancient Archmage before the Exodus of the home world. Perhaps Zazel was one of the architects who created the gateways, or maybe he was a god from the Ashes Pantheon who helped saved his children? Time will only tell.

Entry One: The Gateways

Much has happened these few nights. While I prefer to keep my writings focused alchemical formulas and arcane tomes, recent events have inspired me to record the changes in our collective culture, as we know it. The gateways have become active again. The greatest achievement by our ancestors, which were little more than monuments, are alive with magical energies again.

My colleagues and I have our own speculations as to the reasons behind this, but the general consensus is that the home world is free of it’s former dangers. That is, if one were to ignore the piety of the priests and clerics, who think that one god or another has given this to us as an omen; a reminder of the dangers our ancestors once faced. They would have us dismantle these gateways and adhere to the doctrine of their gods. I find this ill conceived. Scrolls dating to the time before our ancestors walked through those gateways have given no credit to these zealots.

This has caused many debates, most civil… others more violent. Sides are beginning to draw their lines. Many wish to return to the home world, to see the sky that our ancestors once looked upon as they bid farewell to the day, while others demand the status quo remain intact. I leave this very night to meet with my brethren in the Tower of Zazel. Religion has caused much argument over this subject, perhaps magic will settle the matter.

Be sure to favorite this post, rather than filling the forums with individual journal entries I plan on posting them here, and if conversation gets out of hand, I'll repost all the entries in one block for convenience. Currently working on the Third entry now.

Entry Two: Arrival

I arrived to the Tower of Zazel three days past. My welcome was somewhat strained. Archmage Phaeos and I do not get along. Only reason he has not insisted my removal from the order is due to my relationship with several members of the Magus Council.

After settling into my old room, which thankfully has not been touched since my last visit, I went to visit an old friend: Magus Grelan. He is a peculiar mage, being a Niküa, but he is the funniest dwarf you will meet this side of the Starless Sea. He has told me of experiments starting this week to test exactly what these gateways are.

I am unsure as to the full nature of these experiments, but I have pledged my skill and support. Tomorrow I will meet the others in his inner circle. Archmage Phaeos has approved these experiments, thankfully. However, our company will be limited to no more than eight mages, not including Galren. My guess with the current tension in the city, the Archmage wants to keep a vigil. The Abbey has caused many riots in the past week. It is unclear if their motives are pure or political.

Entry Three: Memory Dust

Our journey to the nearest gateway went by faster than anticipated. I was honestly surprised to find no living souls along the road. It is not uncommon for parents and their offspring to visit these gateways; paying respect to our ancestors who protected the future generations. I at the very least expected some kind of barrier placed on this road, given the zeal of the Abbey.

We set our camp and equipment up next to the gateway. With the place utterly deserted, making ourselves at home was no trouble. Magus Galren has already given out our assignments. Three mages, Thren, Vorc, and Thingalla have been tasked with extracting samples of the stone that make up the gateway, without harming it. The other four, Chaka, Zalen, Phestos and Stannis have busied themselves with casting protection spells around our camp. Most of these spells are to repel magical intrusions, however there are several traps set in place for unwelcome guests.

My task, perhaps the most crucial in this early stage, is to create Memory Dust. While the practical use for such an alchemical creation seems obvious, it's application is far from simple. Traditionally, by combining a mixture of siren weed, wale tears and earth of a particular location would make the dust required, this task has proven to be difficult. With centuries exposed to the elements, the gateway has collected many layers of debris and dirt. Each batch of dust I create takes us further back in time, but thus far we have only traveled back three centuries. Magus Galren remains optimistic, however I fear that the continual removal of debris will damage the gateway. After all, even the strongest of stone cracks with time and debris is often the glue that holds it together. I can only hope my next entry will more provocative.

Entry Four: Eyes of Our Fathers

It worked. After six days of scratching layer after layer off of the gateway, and over a dozen mixtures of memory dust, we finally go our answers. More accurately some of our answers have been answered while more questions have arisen. You will be pleased to learn that the gateway still stands. Magus Grelan scoffed at my worries when they were known and reminded me of an important fact. “Rock from Rock Munchers lasts forever.”- his words, not mine. That is how the Niküa describe the Dünir dwarves, however their separate kinship will have to be discussed at a later date. Below holds the recount of the vision I received:

The light of the gateway was suffocating. Thousands of voices filled my ears, each wanting to be heard above the others. Drums sounded and the earth moved. Eight figures stood before the horde of the mixed races present: Human, Elf, Orc and Dwarf. Their respected leaders joined together in celebration. One, an orc, stepped forward and snapped his fingers. A thunderclap erupted, filling the air and quieting the horde. They each looked on in wonder and anticipation of the coming speech.

“Aela, Pyrian, Kaivek and Dünzenkell.” Said the orc, pausing long enough for each mentioned group to give their prideful cheers.

“This day is a new day for our races. With the magic of the mages, blessings of the clerics, strength of our warriors and the crafting skill of the Aela and the Dünzenkell; we have made a new life for all!” A roar of agreement sounded.

“Beyond this gateway is a new land, an untouched land. We leave the land of our ancestors to preserve their name. Do not despair. Change is but a path all must take. One day, the sky will clear and the sun will shine all the brighter, the horrors that plague us at night will be but a child’s tale and the ground will no longer shake, lest our drums move it!” The cheering intensified, enhanced by the pounding of feet and drums.

“On that day, we will return to the land of our ancestors. Our children will look upon the sky in wonder, as our parents did. No mouth will go unfed. No longer will we fear the black of night. For when we return, may our torches sprout wings, as the phoenix of old, and give rebirth to these lands!”

The rest of the vision has become a haze. The other mages and I have compared notes on what we each saw. Consensually, we agree that there were eight figures standing before the gateway and all heard the speech of the orc. We do not know if we have seen these events through one point of view, or through the eyes of our fathers. I leave this day for Brekfuntle, the closest town to the gateway. I will require more supplies to continue making memory dust. Magus Grelan will accompany me on this journey. As I restock on my alchemical supplies, he will send word to his colleagues. It is time to cash in old favors.

Entry Five: Power of Prayer

Events have begun to get stranger and stranger. What started as a simple supply run has turned into a chase of sorts. As Magus Grelan and I headed to Brekfuntle, a half day's ride at best, we encountered a group of clerics from the Abbey. I hold little stock in their pious ways; believing that their answers and opinions are the only way. However, I have learned, painstakingly so, that there is power in prayer. Given the nature of this encounter I have decided to detail it in full in this journal. Perhaps it will, ironically, shed some light on the current state of affairs once more information is found.

We began our journey in the cover of night. Magus Grelan has gotten paranoid in these last few days. Why, I am unsure. He believes that word has gotten out on the experiments being used on the gateways. His concerns were justified when we ran into the clerics.

There were six of them altogether. Given the option, Grelan and I would have continued past them. A magical barrier, shrouded by fire kept us from doing just that. We slowed to a halt, allowing the clerics to take positions on either side of our wagon. The leader of their group, a man with a balding round face and rounder belly, stepped forward.

"Hail and well met, friends." he said, bowing for emphases. "I am Bishop Lurio and these are my companions."

The other clerics bowed in mock politeness. Grelan looked to me before speaking. "Well met to you as well, friends. Magus Grelan is my name, my companion is Kesarakk the Purple. Tell me, why have you blocked our path?"

Bishop Lurio smiled at Grelan. It was far from a pleasant smile. The most accurate description would be a poor-unfortunate-souls smile, the kind only a holy man would give a sinner after confession. " My pardon, I give you. Word has reached the Abbey that these roads are no longer safe for simple travelers. There is talk of strange folk along the road, those that wish to bring harm to merchant and peasant alike. Dark days are approaching. It would be bad form if we were not to take this matter seriously."

"Perhaps if taxes went to the recruitment of guards, instead of temples, your services would not be required." said Grelan. I could tell his irritation was overriding his courtesy.

"Blasphemy!" said one of the clerics. A rather sanguine man who spent more time with a goblet of wine in his hand instead of prayer beads.

An awkward silence ensued as Grelan and the Bishop locked eyes. There was a battle of wills happening, and while the Magus was as stubborn as any dwarf I had met, I was unsure who would win. The answer became apparent when Grelan spoke first.

"As you can see, we are but a pair of mages riding for Brekfuntle. If you would be so kind as to remove your barrier and step aside, we would like to enter the town before break of day." said the Magus.

"What business do you hold in such a town?" asked the Bishop. "There is no wizard's tower, nor any of your kind within the city. And where do you hail from? There is nothing of consequence in the east."

Grelan's eyes narrowed at the suggestion. I understood it as well. To the east of Brekfuntle there is only one of four gateways. Before I could ponder on the implication of the Bishop's words, the Magus spoke.

"Our business is our own, priest, and my kind doesn't answer to you nor your Abbey. Move aside." said Grelan.

The clerics laughed at some kind of inside joke. I had an idea of what was coming next.

"My dear Magus," said the Bishop. "While your business is your own, you are on our road. Here, we are the law and the gods are the jury. Step from your wagon and come with us quietly. The Cardinal will decide your fate."

Grelan held his hand out, gesturing me to remain seated. "I think not. The Abbey has no authority over the flesh. Your kind deals in souls and prayer. We are leaving."

The Bishop laughed, though no humor could be found. "Magus, you are terribly outnumbered. You cannot win this fight."

"Outnumbered? Aye, that we are. However, you are terribly out matched." said Grelan. A fireball appeared in his hand with a gesture. The area around him brightened with the red flame. He flicked his hand forward, sending the fireball into the barrier. It collided with the barrier, sending tendrils of flame outward.

Bishop Lurio made his move then. He muttered something in the dead language used by clerics and held up his hand. A wave of pure, perhaps divine, energy shot out, knocking Grelan from his seat and onto the road. The other clerics moved in, all chanting and tuting in synchronous order.

I cried out for Grelan as I retrieved my staff from the back of the wagon. The Bishop required a prayer to use such a spell against my old mentor, but I only need the power of my mind. I raised my staff, willing my magic to flow through it's oaken frame. A pulse of blue light shot from the end of my staff, sending a similar wave of energy into Biship Lurio. The man, standing in a posture of triumph, flew backwards ten feet, his legs gave out, forcing him on his rear.

Before he or his brothers could respond, I stamped my staff into the wooden frame of the wagon. The pulse of blue energy knocked them back as well. The combination of Grelan's fireball and my force spell destroyed the barrier, blowing out their divine flames much as a gust of wind snuffs out a candle.

Grelan jumped into the back of the wagon. His hands were surrounded with arcane symbols and runes, the tale-tell signs of spell casting. "Ride! Get us from here!" he shouted to me as he extended his hand to a rising cleric. A bolt of pale blue lightning shot from his finger tips. It missed the cleric, but landed close enough to force him back, his hands raised defensively.

I grabbed the reins and gave them a sharp whip, causing the horses to pull hard. The wagon began to move down the road. I looked back at Grelan, to share in the moment of our near escape. My smile faded once I looked at my old mentor. A tendril of yellow energy had wrapped around his neck. I could see it's malicious glow under his beard. He couldn't speak, but his eyes told me that under no-uncertain-terms was I to stop before reaching our destination. He pointed to his satchel in the bed of the wagon, that sat next to mine.

The magical cord around Grelan's neck pulled him then, forcing him from the wagon. I could only watch as the clerics surrounded him. They were out of ear shot, but I could still make out their lips moving. One by one they conjured a similar cord of light, each trapping Grelan in a golden chain. Bishop Lurio looked past my mentor, to me. His look told me I would see him again.

That was the last I saw of Magus Grelan. I am unsure if he is still alive or if the Bishop executed him on the spot. I found shelter in a local inn, The Golden Friar. If the gods are watching, I am sure they would love the irony. I have bound my room in protective wards and after I sleep off this fatigue I will see what is in Grelan's satchel. With any luck, some answers for tonight's strange and frightening events.

Pet peeve with Aoc....@Kesarakk , this is nothing personal, I live your story, it's far more wonderful than anything I could do myself, please trust me when I say this is just a general, situational gripe.

It frustrates me when epic awesome stories like this end up in Lore rather than community creations, as it comes across as diminishing the efforts of others seeking to colour an known world, whilst confusing official lore with fiction.

Why should you visit the community creations page if everything was here, and how would you find great stories like this if they get swamped by the factual official lore one the game I'd launched...

@Shunex@Yaviey , I don't suppose you could possibly move this could you?

Entry Six: The Bard

Three days have passed and no sign of the cleric band that took Magus Grelan. Since then I have secluded myself inside the Golden Friar, a tavern that is far more discrete than its name. I am unsure if they will continue their pursuit, or have settled with the capture of my former mentor. It will be another two days before the rest of my brethren realize something has gone wrong and come to investigate. During my time in this ale and whore infested place, I have met a man. Miller, he goes by and he says he is a bard. He did not go into specifics of any organization he belongs to, only that stories are his trade. He says that there is a tower on the eastern edge of Brekfuntle that has acquired new occupants. It has been abandoned these past ten years at least, but two weeks ago there have been reports of candle light shining through its windows and cracks. He has agreed to take me to this tower on the morrow. I will leave a note for the tavern keep to give to any of my brethren that come looking for me or Grelan. If my suspicions are correct, I will find Grelan at this supposed abandoned tower.

Entry Seven: Unknown Princess

With the aid of Miller the Bard I have gotten word to my brethren at the Gateways. I expect them in the city in two days, once the camp has been magically secured. In the meantime, the Bard has brought me to a section of Brekfunle that I did not know existed. The populous of this area is suspect if not dangerous, but it will help obscure my presence in the town from the clerics as I work on my next plan. Miller has turned out to be quite resourceful in his offer of help and I am thankful for it. What I did not expect was the introduction of someone I did not expect to even exist. Anastacia Tru of the Tru Line in the Mist Forest. By all reports, the royal bloodline had been wiped out over an indiscretion of love. At best, I can describe this fascinating elven lady as eccentric, but I cannot deny the power she wields. On our first meeting, she attempted to summon a being from the plane of fire, a feat few of the craft would dare due to the volatile nature of the element. My respect for Miller the Bard has grown considerably, despite his intrusive nature, for having such powerful and valued allies. I hope it is enough to free Grelan.

Entry Eight: Mage Council

Most of my brethren from the Gateway have joined me inside Brekfuntle. The last remaining two have returned to Zazel to give word on what has transpired in this past week. As for the remaining members of my order, there has been a heated debate on how best to proceed. Several wish to return to the Tower of Zazel and allow the Senate of Archmages plan the next course of action. I know such an action would cost Grelan his life. He is my oldest friend and mentor. The thought of leaving him in that nest of vipers while I enjoy the comforts of the tower turns my stomach. It took some convincing, but with the help of our resident bard, the others have agreed to help me mount a rescue for the Magus. With the combined powers of six mages, myself included, a curious summoner princess and an intrusive bard, we leave for the clerics’ hideout. As luck would have it, their leader, a pious man named Archbishop Lurio, has left town. None of us could hope to match the powers he would bring to bear and it makes our mission that much easier. Once we free Grelan, we make for the Tower of Zazel. It is likely I will be banished from the guild I have been part of since my early years, but I have resigned myself to that fate. Clerics and Archmages be damned.

Entry Nine: Bloodbath

It is with a heavy heart that I write this entry. Two nights past, Zalen, and Phestos were killed. The Archbishop, aided by the men of the Watch in Brekfuntle set a trap for me and my companions as we attempted to free my old mentor. The only solace I take for their deaths is that it happened quickly and they did not suffer. Grelan is dead as well, killed by Archbishop Lurio himself. I paid him back, in full, by destroying the tower he stood atop along with his clerics and Watch puppets. I grieve for the men of the Watch that fell that night and felt no satisfaction or retribution for their deaths. If the families of these men are ever able to read this, I hope they will understand my intentions were not malicious. We are now making our way to Malenden in the territory of the Py’rai elves. The Py’rai have always welcomed the members of my order and they may extend safe harbor for us as we decide our next move.

Entry Ten: Hunted

Hunting parties have been circling us for the past four days. I would have thought Brekfuntle would have given up pursuit by now, but I have underestimated their resolve. A hawk has been tracking us since we passed the river Releva, a snaking current of water that marks the borders of the Kaelar territories. With our combined magic, we continue to elude our hunters. We are two days, as a crow flies, from Malenden. Makinoji, our newest companion, scouted ahead with her otherworldly powers. She reports that there are two companies of six on horse back riding in wide arcs throughout the forest. These must belong to Py’rai Regency. My plan is to sneak past their lines and make camp in a collection of hills half a day’s march from our current camp. Once inside their borders, our pursuers will have to face the Regency or turn back. If all goes well, we will arrive at our destination without conflict.

Entry Eleven: Surrounded

We have made it to the hills without incident. The Py’rai Rangers have spotted us, but have not advanced. Makinoji tells me that all ranging parties have left the surrounding forest area. I had planned, if not hoped, that the Rangers would face the men of Brekfuntle and send them back into Kaelar territory. With them gone, we have only the hills for protection. We have spent that past night preparing defenses for the coming assault. Anastacia has summoned a creature she calls a Mezex. From my understanding of her explanation, this creature is able to enter the stone and manipulate its nature, forcing the stones to rise and fall at will. It can’t raise or flatten mountains but can give us a large enough barrier to ensure the men of Brekfuntle will have a hard time getting to us. Thren and Chaka, the last of my order from the Gateways, have busied themselves with protective wards. No one will enter this camp without our knowledge and permission… but will it be enough?

Entry Twelve: Missing

Chaka is gone. I woke this morning to find Thren fast asleep on his watch and my poppy powder missing. I can only assume the past few days have been too much for my dear colleague. I can only assume she is still alive and well and making full speed for the Tower of Zazel. While her loss would further the guilt building inside me for the loss of life I have caused, I must focus myself to the situation at hand. The men of Brekfuntle have gathered at the foot of this hill. Our fortifications are in place, but we are heavily outnumbered. Should our capture become reality, I will surrender to answer for my crimes in exchange for the lives of my companions. They are innocent in this conflict and I wish no harm to come to them.

Entry Thirteen: Reflection

Two weeks have passed since we were rescued by the Py’rai. While the elves work on sorting out the legalities of our predicament, Commander Turgon has allowed us free reign of their fortress. I’ve spent these days in an alchemy lab brewing potions and salves to assist the Py’rai on their missions. It seems like a decade or more has passed since I touched a single vial or ingredient that wasn’t stained with the blood of a friend. The elves give my solitude while I work, which I am thankful for. There are days where all I do is stand over the cauldron fire and weep. In those flames, I see Grelan and Thingalla. I see Phestos and Zalen… and Chaka. I ask myself why I went through such a foolish plan- why I killed so many and put my friends in such peril. I don’t know… I don’t know